Until November
by Alessa Glass
Summary: They were just two until November.


**A/N: **This started out as a one-shot, but it got turned into a longer story. It won't be very long though, five chapters at most. So enjoy and review!

**Song: **This chapter's song is "Work" by Jimmy Eat World, considering that's the song that inspired this in the first place.

**Warnings: **Spoiler for 'Insensitive.'And minor adult content. Very minor.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own House. Who reads these anyway?

Until November 

**1. Future in a Box**

Chase slumped down in the driver's seat. He wondered where Cameron was and why she had so aloof the last time he'd seen her.

It had been a month since Valentine's Day, since Cameron's surprising (yet wanted) proposal. A month of things Chase never wanted to forget. He closed his eyes and pictured her face, her hair, her skin, her lips. A smile graced his own as he remembered all their late nights.

It hadn't, as it turned out, been just about the sex. Conversations had been struck up early in the evening and finished early in the morning. Those were the times Chase wished for every night they were together. Though he couldn't deny that the sex was great, too.

But he hadn't seen her in a week. She'd been "sick," but Chase had a sneaking suspicion that that wasn't it at all. He'd waited to call her as long as he could (which had meant Monday night), and she hadn't picked up all week. He'd tried to entice her into coming to work by leaving messages about House doing immoral things to patients, but even that had not worked.

Now, it was Friday and all means of beguiling Cameron back to work had failed. This was his last resort. Chase's car was, at that moment, idling in front of Cameron's apartment building. He had slumped down to avoid being seen, though he doubted he would. It was near ten at night, and there was no moon. Chase looked up to Cameron's window. A light was on. She was home.

Chase exhaled as he cut his engine and made his way to her building. The elevator seemed to take forever. He had to see her. He had to make sure she was okay, to make sure he hadn't hurt her.

Chase stood in front of her door, afraid she wouldn't answer. But Cameron did, to his surprise and joy.

"I've missed you." The words seemed so foreign. He hadn't said that to anyone in so long that he had almost forgotten they were part of his vocabulary. "What's going on?" He followed the rusted words up with some that he could remember.

Cameron shrugged. "I don't know." Her voice cracked, and Chase entered the apartment to find it a mess.

His questioning glance went from the living room to Cameron and back to the living room. "Cameron…"

"I've been sick," she lied. He knew she was lying because she had never looked healthier, except for the fact that her eyes were empty and sad.

Chase didn't ask what was wrong. The box sat on the coffee table. Although it wasn't large, it dwarfed its surroundings due to its significance.

A pregnancy test. Chase glanced at Cameron again.

Her face was pale now. "I should have called," she whispered, eyes fixed on that damned box. "I just couldn't. Sunday night…" She trailed off.

"Was it…?" Chase didn't finish his question. He knew the answer.

Cameron was going to have his child.

She tried to smile a little. "What are the chances? The one time we forget…"

Chase counted the months in his head. "November."

Her eyes met his. "It doesn't have to happen." But the idea was dismissed just as quickly. "What are we telling House?"

Chase shook his head. "We don't have to come up with it tonight, do we?" He had a feeling it would be an interesting conversation, knowing House.

Cameron smiled lightly. "I guess not. I guess I'd better get some sleep."

"Alright." Chase stood in the living room awkwardly for a moment, eyes fixed yet again on the box, this time, however, it didn't seem so damned.

And with that, he left her alone. He knew she'd need some time. He needed some himself.

On the way home, Chase tried to imagine himself as a father. It felt next to impossible. The whole thing did. And yet… And yet it all seemed wonderful.

If only that feeling could have lasted.


End file.
